Open Mouth, Insert Lead Foot
by MorbidbyDefault
Summary: Sherlock goes undercover to confront Molly's current boyfriend,a hot rodder who goes by 'The Stig'. So far, he's not impressed, and feels he could easily beat this helmet-wearing man in not only a race of wits,but a race behind the wheel as well. ((Based on the promo pic of Benedict with Top Gear's The Stig.)) Rating is for mild language and a slightly mature dream sequence. Enjoy!


So, I couldn't help myself...I really really wanted to do this, because as soon as I saw the picture of Benedict vs Top Gear's _The Stig_, an instant plot bunny was born. So, how could I not, right? Anyway, the link for my inspiration is here: post/55210047232/

Anyway, here ya go.

**I do not own anything including, but not limited to: BBC, Sherlock Holmes, Top Gear, The Stig, or Benedict Cumberbatch...damn.**

**Enjoy!**

**Open Mouth, Insert Lead Foot:**

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

"Oh, hell, where is she? She knows I don't like to wait!" Sherlock paced back and forth in the lab, ranting to the room, as well as John, of the lack of his pathologist. John rolled his eyes a bit, before shaking his head.

"Sherlock, you do realize you don't own her, right? She's technically not even supposed to be here today, but was nice enough to cancel her date in order to help you. Be patient." He chided the detective's tantrum, earning a well groomed scowl. Just then, the door to the lab swung open, and a sparkling Molly raced in, her lab coat gliding on the air behind her.

"Sorry, I got here as soon as I could. Right...what do you need me to do?" She glanced around the room, seemingly asserting herself to the space, before turning to look at Sherlock. He was just about to answer, when the lab door opened again. This time, it was a tall, built man, wearing a jumpsuit of sorts. The crisp white was clean, but not nearly as clean as the helmet he wore upon his head, which reflected the dull lighting of the room. Molly noted how Sherlock was not looking at her, and so she turned. Immediately, her face took on a pleasant smile, one of pure adoration. She crossed the room quickly, and entered the slightly open arms of the man, who pulled her into an embrace.

"Of course, love, how could I forget? Go get 'em." She said with a slight giggle, before kissing the visor of the large orb covering his head. Apparently pleased with the affection, the man turned and left, not regarding either of the two men in the room. Molly turned once more, the smile still bright on her face, until she came face to face with the two.

"Oh...oh I'm so sorry. That's...that's my canceled date. He's a driver...racer...he races cars for a living." She fumbled over the right word to use. John nodded a bit, smiling happily for her.

"Well congrats, Molly. He seems like an...interesting bloke. What's his name?" He asked curiously. Molly's blush turned a bit more red in tone, and she glanced away a bit.

"He...he goes by 'The Stig'. I'm...I'm not really sure why, or what it means, but he insists on going by it. I don't really mind, though." She shrugged, and went about setting up the equipment for Sherlock's tests. The man in question was still silent, watching her as she moved about the lab.

"He's a hot-rodder. You're dating someone...who drives fast cars...for a living?" He seemed genuinely confused by the concept, at first. Molly turned around, and nodded her head, a happy smile still on her features. However, the smile dropped as Sherlock stood and approached her.

"Oh, really Molly. You could do so much better in the category of 'interesting dates I've had'. You did, after all, date a criminal mastermind. Not to mention that gymnast from the States, or what was it that one fellow from Russia did?" He ticked off the list quickly, forcing Molly to frown more.

"Fire-breathing juggler." She muttered in embarrassment.

"Ah yes. You see, there are so many more interesting occupations out there than a street racer." Sherlock huffed regally. Molly scowled at the back of his head, watching as he moved back to his microscope. John gave her the typical soft look of remorse.

"I already tried 'consulting detective', but he seems oblivious." She muttered to herself. John had picked up the statement, and chuckled dryly on her behalf. The words whizzed passed the detective's ears, as he unknowingly continued on with his experiments.

OoOo

It had been hours later when they finally finished. Molly and John were both dead tired, while Sherlock was positively bubbling with the pent up boredom he held.

"Well, that didn't help at all. Now I've not only nothing to do, but I've completed months worth of research, only to find inconclusive evidence supporting my theories. Come on, John. Let's go and see if Lestrade has a case." He was already whirling his coat on, while the tired doctor's eyes bulged.

"Wha...Sherlock. It's 11:00 pm! I've got the early shift at the clinic, and I still haven't been to sleep since our case yesterday. You do what you want, I'm going home." John said crankily, before walking out of the lab. He waved a farewell to Molly, before charging out with a defiant stomp of his foot. Sherlock let out a long and heavy sigh, before resuming in putting on his scarf.

"Well, I suppose you are free to go home, Molly. Do enjoy your time with your 'Sid'. Tell me, does he speed at everything, or is it just when it comes to cars?" Sherlock asked with a raised brow. Immediately, Molly turned a bright crimson color, before sighing, and shaking her head.

"It's 'Stig', Sherlock, and it's none of your business. Goodnight." She said in a tight voice, before walking by him, almost racing to the door herself to get away from his scrutiny. Sherlock followed behind, smirking a bit to himself at his clever joke.

OoOo

However, the joke would turn around to nag him throughout the night. Having been turned away by Lestrade, Sherlock went home and had made the odd decision to attempt sleeping. Dreams plagued his mind, making the night unbearably difficult to relax through.

_Molly was there, placing another delicate kiss onto the helmet of the masked man, the Stig. Suddenly, in a flourish of limbs and raking fingernails over flesh, She was underneath him, as he proceeded to make quick work of her clothing. This Molly was all sighs and encouraging whispers to him, and Sherlock found himself wanting to pummel the visor into his eyes. However, as he watched on, helplessly unable to look away, he watched as Molly removed the helmet. _

_It was him. He, Sherlock Holmes, was the man beneath the sickeningly white guard. He looked to himself, and was both disgusted, and curious, by the devilish grin his mirrored self wore. _

"_I already tried 'consulting detective', but he seems oblivious. Oh well." She purred, before turning and looking up at the other Sherlock. He leaned down and captured her lips with his own, before gripping her knees and pushing them apart..._

Sherlock bolted upright in his bed, feeling the clammy sweat creep over his skin. His breathing was labored, short and tight in his chest. A wipe over his face, and the detective knew he needed much more than that to calm his resolve. Something more, like a very cold shower.

OoOo

He hadn't really remembered how he came up with the plan, but he had. And now, nonetheless, he was walking toward a large track, closed off by an easily jumped gate. His research and connections through the homeless had led his search of the man here, where he frequently was seen driving a large assortment of vehicles. As Sherlock hopped the fence, he quickly scanned over his appearance. Not too distinguishing were his white tee and jeans. He felt odd, both uncomfortable in the ordinary appearance, and at the same time, fairly at ease with how the fitting of the clothes moved with him. He saw the man just a few feet away, that damned helmet still firmly placed on his head. Sherlock wondered, for a split second, if there really was no head, and this was merely some sort of highly developed robot. He crossed the paved ground of the track, to stand in directly behind the man he was after. 'The Stig' turned, so that he was facing Sherlock too.

Neither said a word, seemingly in an automatic match to see who could hold out the longest. As much as one would have thought Sherlock would win in this matter, what with his steely reserve and penchant for intimidating observation, he did not.

"Alright. Why don't I just discuss the matter at hand. You are entirely too distracting to my pathologist, and we both know that you use this character of yours as a means of attracting impressionable young ladies, such as Molly is. So, why don't we settle this. A contest of your choosing, if you win, you are allowed a chance to continue dating Molly. However, I don't see it lasting much longer anyway, considering both her lasting and outstanding affection for myself, and your blossoming career, which will inevitably take you to several different countries, of which, there are fields and scores of attractive women for you to prey upon. However, if I win, which I intend to do, you break things off, and make yourself scarce." Sherlock rattled off the challenge quickly, along with his predictions of the demise of Molly and this man's relationship. He narrowed the distance between them, glaring into the mirrored visor. He would have liked to think he was staring fear into the eyes of 'The Stig'. However, the mirror projected only his own face back to him, which of course, mirrored back images of the dream he had experienced the night before.

"So, do we have an arrangement?" Sherlock asked again. 'The Stig' contemplated this for a moment, before nodding his head once. He then turned slightly, looking across the track at not one, but two beautifully designed cars. Both were identical, aside from the color. Naturally, one was that annoyingly crisp shade of white, effectively blinding an onlooker with its sheen. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the predictable shade, and then set his eyes to the car beside it, a dark mahogany that shone with a blackish hue to it. Sherlock turned back to the man, and held out his hand to shake.

They were in agreement.

OoOo

The track was wide, and both cars lined up to a starting marker. As a nearby pedestrian counted down for them to start, Sherlock looked over to 'The Stig'. He returned the look, his hidden face slightly haunting the detective's mind.

"Right...3...2...1...Go!" The unbiased party called out. Then, it was all engine revving and heavy clouds of smoke from tires as the two cars took off. The white car peeled away quickly from the black, taking the turns without slowing down in the least. Sherlock growled angrily as he tried to keep up. He, for lack of experience, was doing fairly well. His ability to handle the vehicle was better than most on the open road, and his foot pressed down on the pedal harder, effectively kicking the car up into a higher gear, and bringing him closer to the white car. They cleared one, two, three laps, each one having their high and low points throughout the race as it continued. The final lap commenced, and Sherlock hardly let up on the gas. But then again, neither did 'The Stig'. They were nose and nose, either one possible to win this race. However, as they swept into the final turn, the white car dropped to the lower portion of the track. This did two things. First, it gave him the high advantage of having to clear more track. But second, and more importantly, it distracted Sherlock immensely. The sudden movement of the vehicle beside him took his mind off focus for one split second. One second too long, considering he was now watching the rear wheels of the white car pull across the finish line just as his front ones did.

"Damn it." He muttered angrily to himself.

The vehicles stopped, and the drivers now standing outside, Sherlock scowled bitterly. 'The Stig' held out his hand as a means of a peace offering. However, the sour detective turned to walk away.

"When you do leave, be kind to her. She tends to be less productive and kind when she's been hurt." He said coldly, before walking away quickly, leaving the white masked man behind.

OoOo

It was only two weeks later when he waltzed in to the lab to find a teary eyed Molly Hooper.

"He's broken up with you, then, has he?" His voice quipped out. Molly sighed a bit, before nodding her head. She wiped away the few final tears that had dripped onto her rosy cheeks, before turning to him.

"Yes. It wasn't anything I did, in case you were thinking that. He's just...with his work, it'd be difficult to keep things going...long distance. He was really looking out for me." She went through all the notable excuses of a bereft ex, still trying to protect her former beau. Sherlock nodded in a noncommittal fashion, not wanting to correct her on just who it was that was protecting her.

"So, what were his reasons?" He asked knowingly. Molly sniffled, before she chuckled a bit.

"It was so weird, he was so cryptic about it. I mean, he's so quiet, hardly ever says anything. But he was so...careful about how to phrase it. He said that he wins a lot of races, well, most races. But he didn't win the one race that matters in this case." She said, staring off into the recent memory of it all. Sherlock watched as she shook her head, seemingly trying to clear the oddity of the break up itself.

"And?"

"He said he'd lost the race to win my heart, and he wouldn't steal someone else's trophy." Molly said finally with a shrug. She sighed, and gave Sherlock a weak grin, before turning and continuing with her work.

She entirely missed the shocked expression on the detective's face.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Sooo, there you have it. Stig!lock. It's a thing. YAY! Lol. I hope you all enjoyed this. It was a lot of fun to write, YAY FOR FINALLY GETTING SOMETHING DONE, EH? Anyway, leave me a review, if you please?


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